


peace negotiations

by LadySpearWife



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Italian Grand Prix, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 01:03:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20715521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySpearWife/pseuds/LadySpearWife
Summary: He’s having too much fun with this, all chuckling and grinning, but so is Sebastian, and it’s hard to resent him for it. And he feels hot and powerless and high, body prickling with the anticipation. If that’s how Charles apologizes, he’s going to look forward to every time he’s an asshole on track.





	peace negotiations

Sebastian opens his door to find Charles standing on the hall, and his teammate is the last person he wants to see right now, after that disaster of a qualifying. And yet, he forces himself to smile. For a moment, neither of them moves. Then, Charles looks behind and sighs, seeming to consider what to do next. Sebastian clears his throat, impatient. He’s not exactly angry, but frustrated might be the word.

“Can I come in?” Charles whispers carefully, like he’s afraid to be heard.

“It’s late, and we have to race tomorrow.”

_I have to do something with that fourth place_, Sebastian thinks, almost wanting to say that aloud. He wants to win, has to do it at least once in the season – how is he supposed to be a Ferrari driver, a four-times world champion, a championship contender with no victory? He doesn’t spit those words for pure self-control, but Charles flinches a little anyway, and Sebastian supposes he sounds as bitter as he’s feeling. He’s played his role as a team player, hasn’t he? Charles should’ve done his part as well.

But Charles is nothing but relentless, nothing but unable to accept defeat. It’s something all pilots must have, it seems. He takes a step towards Sebastian, a dare on itself despite looking surprisingly boyish with his bare feet and tousled hair. Sebastian holds his ground, unmoved by the little display. He’s had teammates with more spine than this, after all. In the end, it’s just a step, and he wonders how much of that was a miscalculation. Sebastian wishes he wouldn’t play games and spill it soon.

“Please,” he drawls out the syllables, eyes lowered, “I want to make things right.”

The novelty of having Charles _ashamed_ things is enough to stun anyone – he’s gone far too long playing the golden boy who makes no mistakes. Sebastian swallows dryly, following as he shifts and fidgets with the hem of his shirt. He shouldn’t. There’re a million reasons to send him away, the race tomorrow being the most obvious. Charles shouldn’t be here at all, and Sebastian shouldn’t be considering letting him in. As much as he wants an explanation, an admission, an _apology_ even, he shouldn’t.

And yet.

“Come in.” He ushers Charles in, exhaling heavily as he smiles, all bright and happy and thankful. Sebastian wishes he wouldn’t have done that – it reminds him of how much he wanted to scream after the clock went out, of how anger has kept him sleepless and restless despite how exhaustion feels worse here at Monza.

Charles charges towards the bed with little consideration or hesitation, settling into his personal space with no concerns. It makes Sebastian clench his jaw for some reason. It’s his room, and he’d like to keep it as a last safe place in this hellish weekend that seems to be heading to disaster. Nonetheless, he follows his teammate, sitting just by him. Charles scoots even closer, making their bodies touch as much as it’s possible and humming under his breath. Sebastian goes still, breathing in sharply.

It feels wrong, having Charles that close, especially because he’s thrumming to take it out on him, the frustration for being used. He digs his fingers into the mattress and tries to count to ten. Then twenty. The more time passes, the more Sebastian knows it’s not going to help. He’s angry and tired and irrational – years of things that don’t have to do with Charles at all. The too thick scent of Charles’ cologne isn’t helping at all, and the warmth of his thigh against Sebastian’s is more dizzying than comfortable.

The silence is making him more restless, Sebastian decides. Charles came here with a reason. As much as he wants to do something about being conveniently used and then forgotten, he knows it’s better to finish things soon. Go to sleep and race well tomorrow and bury this moment. It’d frustrate Charles, but he could take a hit or two on his ego. Sebastian has taken many in these past years, after all.

But Sebastian doesn’t open his mouth.

“I’m so sorry this happened,” Charles starts, quiet enough Sebastian has to lean in to hear him. “You know I didn’t – I wasn’t happy to see you not finishing. What the hell they were doing, right? And we should have gone to the track sooner.”

It shouldn’t surprise him it’s not a true apology. “Is that all?”

“No, Sebastian, wait.” Charles’ breath tickles his neck, and the boy grips his wrist to keep him in place, even if he never moved. It gives Sebastian a sick satisfaction, like he made Charles’ carefully crafted mask crumble. “I’m really sorry! I should have a found a way of leaving that midfield sooner. But I tried to follow the rules, I swear I –”

“And you’re that fond of following orders when they can mean a loss for you?”

Charles inhales, his fingers digging into Sebastian’s wrist almost painfully, his palm clammy with sweat. He looks younger than the usual like this, and Sebastian adds another motive to the list of motives he should send him away – he’s just a boy who has so much to learn. But Charles bites down on his lip hard and settles his other hand on Sebastian’s thigh, a warm pressure that seeps into him through the sheer fabric of his sweatpants. Sebastian sucks in a breath, feeling dumb as he stares.

“Is there anything I can to make things right again?” He rubs circles on the flesh, tender but insistent, voice so innocent and quiet Sebastian wonders if _he _is the one taking advantage. “Sebastian, _please_. I don’t want you to be angry with me.”

“I’m not angry.” He doesn’t know that for sure, though. Doesn’t know if it’s anger, frustration or restlessness he feels towards Charles.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t worry, Charles, it’s fine.” Sebastian hates how choked he sounds as Charles decides to drag his hand farther up on his thigh so slowly, almost shyly, the hot pressure not where he wants making him stiffen. “It really is, I promise.”

“You can accept it, you know.”

Sebastian shouldn’t even _want_, let alone accept it. But Charles is offering, downright pushing it in his direction, leaving little space to say no. He tries to think about the race, about the decade he has over Charles, about how he’s clenching the sheets to not clutch at him hard enough to break skin. Nothing changes the fact he is very much offering sex as an apology, though. Nothing makes him stop wanting to push Charles on the bed and show him his place and maybe kiss him after it.

He should’ve used that first annoyance to send him away, Sebastian knows. It’d have spared him the suffering of having Charles’ hot breath against the sensitive skin of his neck and feeling his hot palm against his inner thigh. And most important of all, it’d have spared him the shame of his cock twitching in his underwear, half hard already.

Embarrassment burns through him, but Charles is staring him with wide eyes and pink lips parted. He looks like the start of those sick _barely legal_ videos. Sebastian has to stop looking unless he makes a stupid decision, overheating in the places he’s being touched. God help him, Sebastian wants to say yes. He wants to act on that little fantasy. He wants to make Charles scream his name and scream how sorry he is.

He wants to make remember he’s been fucked through the entire race tomorrow.

The hesitation is too much, it seems, and Charles makes the decision for him. He slides into Sebastian’s lap and cups his face wit both hands, eyes on his mouth for a moment that lasts an eternity before he dives for a messy kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, far too eager and hungry. Sebastian groans, squirming underneath him and kissing back with the same hunger. His minds picks this moment to slow down and ignore the consequences this can have – he’s never done this with a teammate before. It feels dirty and wrong and sick, but God, Sebastian isn’t in control anymore.

He thrusts up against Charles’ ass. The friction against his cock is more than good, even better when Charles grinds down. He chokes on a moan, feeling oddly lost as Charles runs his hands under his shirt, hotter than fire against his chest. He’s still clinging to the sheets, overwhelmed by this turn of events, overwhelmed by Charles.

“Touch me,” Charles breaks the kiss to demand, breathless and wild, eyes bright.

“_Fuck_.”

He’s being looked at with some amusement, and it sparks some of that anger in him again. Sebastian puts his hands on his waist and squeezes until Charles hisses, but it gains him another furious kiss anyway, Charles’ hips stuttering against his cock as they grind together in a frantic rhythm. It’s the same thrill of making a risky move on track and succeeding, maybe even better than it. Sebastian takes it gladly, a little triumphant as Charles growls. He takes everything Charles is offering gladly now.

“You know, I came here to apologize.” He laughs, casual and conversational, like they were having just a nice chat to even things out. If not for the breathlessness in his tone and the way he’s very much rutting against Sebastian’s cock, he could believe him.

“Yeah? How do you want to do this?”

“How?” Charles sounds a little mocking, and Sebastian leans in to kiss it away, but he leans back, making him press a wet kiss against his jaw instead. “On my knees, like any good supplicant. Will you take my apology more seriously then?”

“A lot more seriously,” Sebastian grunts out, squeezing Charles’ thighs.

He hums in what Sebastian hopes it’s appreciation, but still pushes him away, getting up so fast he doesn’t even time to miss his weight in his lap. He doesn’t because Charles is on his knees less than a heartbeat later, grinning up at him with a kiss-swollen, pink mouth that’s making him sweat and squirm, dick leaking at the view. Sebastian doesn’t resist the temptation of running his fingers over Charles’ lips, watching mesmerized as he closes his eyes and darting his tongue out to lick them.

Sebastian shivers, mouth gone dry. Charles is still grinning as he sucks; too enthusiastic, with some spit already running down his chin. It’s a wonderful look on him, and he could keep him there forever, on his knees and strangely pliant. The Charles he knows doesn’t do pliant – sheepish, innocent and polite, of course, but never this compliant, never willing to surrender to someone like this. It goes straight to his cock.

Like everything else that Charles is doing to him.

Like the way Charles parts his legs and leans in to nuzzle at his dick, mouthing it through two layers of fabric. Sebastian thrusts up, clenching his jaw to not moan too loud. He has his twenty-one years old teammate this close of blowing him, and the thought itself is addictive. He grabs Charles’ hair and presses his face against his cock, grinning shamelessly at the little hiss and the annoyed look he gives him even as he keeps working his mouth, leaving his sweatpants wet and uncomfortably tight.

“You like to perform,” Sebastian gasps out, aware he’s too breathless to sound hot or anything. He just wants to see Charles’ reaction.

Charles stills, and Sebastian regrets speaking, whining from the back of this throat. But then he makes a choked sound that’s too much like a _yes_ and tugs at his waistband desperately, face red and eyes screwed shut. Sebastian is _very_ glad that he does it. He scrambles to lift his hips to let him get them off and sighs in relief as his cock is freed, shaking with the anticipation, not managing to even look in his direction again because he knows he’ll look even better like this. But Charles pauses.

The waiting is too much to bear, though. Sebastian has to look down, squirming on the bed a little pitifully, and finds Charles staring at his cock, hands on his own thighs, lips parted in a soundless gasp. He’s leaning into the hand in his hair, and it’s the hottest thing Sebastian has seen. He growls, tightening the grip. It drawls out a little moan and shakes Charles out of his little daze. The smirk he gets is absolutely infuriating, but not more infuriating than the loose, dry grip on his cock, just a couple of teasing pumps.

“I like to perform _well_, that’s different.”

“Oh, is that – _fuck_, you do.”

Sebastian throws his head back with a little groan, staring the ceiling as Charles makes a point of interrupting him with talented, vicious licks at the head, hand setting a cruelly quick pace as a contrast. He’s having too much fun with this, all chuckling and grinning, but so is Sebastian, and it’s hard to resent him for it. And he feels hot and powerless and high, body prickling with the anticipation. If that’s how Charles apologizes, he’s going to look forward to every time he’s an asshole on track.

Charles traces the vein on his cock with just the tip of his tongue, slowly running his hands over Sebastian’s sides instead of jerking him off. The pace is torturing, barely anything at all. He’s ashamed of the noise that comes out of his mouth, something between a whimper and a cry, animalistic begging. It seems to downright delight Charles, if the laughter that follows is an answer to it. Sebastian tries to not dwell too much on the fact he’s the joke here, and Charles is so helpful with that.

He blows hot air over his sensitive, leaking cock, pushing him down as his hips buck up desperately – perhaps with too much force, perhaps meant to bruise, but Sebastian doesn’t care. He struggles against the grip and uses the hand on Charles’ hair to try and rush it. It’s too much and not enough, worse as Charles sucks on the head, getting from him a hopeless moan. But, because he’s Charles and infuriating, he stops and gets out of Sebastian’s grip easily enough, releasing his cock with a wet sound.

“Look at me.” It’s an order. No one could mistake it for anything else.

“Thought you were going to apologize, not bark at me,” Sebastian pants, gripping the mattress until his knuckles turn white with the effort of not grabbing him.

“If you don’t look at me, I’ll stop, Sebastian.”

And he has to watch because of this. Charles is staring up at him, eyes wide and red, glistening, swollen mouth curled into a sly smirk, his face flushed. He has a hand just teasing his inner thighs, elegant and teasing and aloof. Sebastian bites his cheek hard. Then, Charles leans in, still staring him, and starts to suck again, bobbing his head slow enough Sebastian has to grit his teeth. The sight of Charles’ pretty lips wrapped around his cock was electrifying, stretched wide and taking him deeper every time.

He choked on his breath, shivering, body straining to stay in place. Having to watch Charles do it is better and worse. Better because he has fucking Charles Leclerc between his legs giving him head, and with that face he could be a model. Worse, because he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to look at him and not remember the sinful way he manages to be smug as he sucks cock. Sebastian is ashamed to admit he’s close _already_, whining softly as Charles takes his sweet time, swallowing around him.

Sebastian wonders to whom Charles did this before. He’s _good_, all clever, cruel tricks with his tongue that Sebastian’s make toes curl and his body jolt – too good to be a beginner on this. He wonders if it was someone on track. Pierre who follows him like a loyal dog, Max who manages to get under Charles’ skin like no one else, Lewis who has been so generous with his praise. But he finds that he doesn’t care at all. Not when Charles hums around his cock, jerking the base. The vibrations make his hips snap up, and this time, Charles lets him. His jaw goes slack, and he lets Sebastian go even deeper.

The sight is mesmerizing, addictive, overwhelming. Charles’ lips are touching his stomach, breath hot against his skin. His eyes are wide open, watery and with pupils blown wide as he watches Sebastian. He looks so fucking helpless as he thrusts into the wet warmth of his mouth, moaning around him. He has his face tilted up, and he doesn’t even gag as he goes faster, harder. Instead, he curls a hand on the one gripping his head, tightening it until Sebastian is holding him in a way that must be painful.

And then he gives a nudge, a suggestion. Sebastian pushes his head farther down and can’t help but think that this is exactly where Charles ought to be. He looks good, he’ll admit, dressed in victory, but with Sebastian’s cock in his mouth, making little sounds that make his spine tingle, he looks _exquisite_. Whoever who came before him sure did a wonderful job of teaching him all those dirty tricks. Sebastian groans, squeezing his eyes shut as his body quivers. He can hear himself panting.

“Do you think you can perform better?” Sebastian brushes Charles’ hair out of his face, loving the way he says _yes _with his mouth full, a little desperate noise that makes him bite his cheek hard enough to feel the taste of blood on his tongue. Good God.

He releases Charles and watches enthralled as he frowns with the same focus as he does in the track. That expression of utter concentration that makes sure everyone knows he’s such a hard worker and interested in doing his best. He used to think it was a little cute – how sweet, the kid wants to impress in his first season, but don’t we all?

It’s definitively not cute now, and Sebastian doesn’t think he’ll ever want to be paternal and welcoming towards him again. He wants the way Charles bobs his head up and down in an almost frantic pace, his cock glistening as he drools and struggles but doesn’t stop, taking him as deep as he can and dragging his tongue all over him. It’s messy, hardly the elegant thing anyone would’ve expected from him, and Sebastian is on fire, being consumed by him. He loves how desperate Charles looks for it.

The things he can do with his mouth are heavenly and vicious, but what makes Sebastian cry out is the way his hips are rolling into nothing, how he’s shaking just so slightly as he cups Sebastian’s balls. His eyes are watery and he is acting like a little whore, but Charles still has that focused frown, like he’s trying to understand the setup of a car that isn’t working well instead of all but gagging in Sebastian’s cock.

He smirks to the scene, an idea forming. Charles came to apologize, he can more than this. Sebastian holds his head still, hissing at it. But he forces himself to not move, offering nothing but a shrug as Charles looks up. Then, he puts his thumb in his mouth, groaning at the sight of his stretched mouth, the way his eyes go a little wide, how he has to grip Sebastian’s thighs to steady himself. It’s downright perfect, how he almost can’t take it, how it’s almost too big for him, but Charles doesn’t give up.

It’s a known fact he never does.

And it’s a known fact Sebastian is a terrible loser. He’s no second driver, for fuck’s sakes. He sure didn’t get four titles by lowering his head to his teammates. If Charles wants to take it, Sebastian isn’t going to stop him. Charles gags, tears spilling, but he barely slows down. He hollows his cheeks and works his tongue around his cock, as relentless here as he is on track. He has never felt this need with Mark, Daniel or Kimi, but none of them were called his replacement after winning a single race.

“You can do better, right?” Sebastian grits out, gripping Charles’ shoulder hard enough to bruise. “You’re always talking about pushing harder, being better, _do it_.”

Charles looks to him like he hit too close to home with those words and takes it, as he does with everything else that annoys him, as a challenge. He’s sloppy and hungry, all but making out with Sebastian’s, licking and kissing and sucking, eyes never leaving him – and Sebastian doesn’t think he can stop watching it now. His body jerks into it, and Charles wraps a hand around the base that he doesn’t bother to reach, too hard and too fast and too much, a punishing pace. Sebastian struggles to breath.

It’s hard to find the strength to do something that’s not moaning and squirming and silently begging for more. But Sebastian wants an apology. He cups Charles’ cheeks gently, far too gently for everything they’ve done, and fucks into his mouth until he hits the back of his throat, until he can barely think, until he’s covering Charles’ mouth and face with white. Sebastian is shuddering, dizzy and weightless as his vision goes black for a heartbeat. But Charles is _unrelenting_ – he licks broad stripes on Sebastian’s cock and grins innocently when Sebastian flinches, when he’s pushed away.

It’d be infuriating, if he weren’t fighting to hold himself up, body distant and heavy and worn out. Yes, Charles is more than just forgiven.

“Goodnight, Sebastian.” Charles _pets _his cheek, smirking too sharply and looking almost condescending. He choses to hang on the way his voice sounds all kinds of hoarse and fucked up instead. “And good race tomorrow, you know you deserve it.”

**Author's Note:**

> still doing monza-related things ages after it because honestly singapore will go bleak for ferrari


End file.
